[ So, there is Will, curled tight and buried under their blankets with nothing but his hair poking out. He is clutching a nearly empty bottle of whiskey and Winston is pressed tightly to his back, snoring away dutifully. ]
Poor manners... scmoor smammers.
[ He is also very, very drunk. And apparently southern? That's an accent there, that is. Then, with a very quiet whine: ]
no subject
Poor manners... scmoor smammers.
[ He is also very, very drunk. And apparently southern? That's an accent there, that is. Then, with a very quiet whine: ]
Hannibal.
[ And clingy. Come back to bed, Hannibal. ]